


new armor

by tinclown



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M, Mildly Gay, mildly sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-08 12:03:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18622924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinclown/pseuds/tinclown
Summary: "Do you--is it--do you like it?""It's nice," he replies, tapping the edge of the gauntlet. "What're the enchantments?""Oh, the armor is--uh, a few things actually."





	new armor

**Author's Note:**

> what's up i haven't uploaded anything here in almost 2 months have some quiet gays
> 
> valen is my sibling's dragonborn i just happen to include him in like 7 out of every 10 things i write! fern if you're reading this i'm suing for custody

The dim light of the sconces catches the blue-green pieces of the armor just enough to flaunt the shine of their enchantments, smooth armor of malachite and several materials he can't name. Sturdier than most light armor, that he's sure of--it might be _almost_ as strong as the custom ebony that the Khajiit in the room with him dons, but it's far lighter. (Granted, he's not sure most ebony armor could match the weight of Valen's, though--the man is the height of an Altmer with three times the muscle, one of the most intimidating people Ralis can recall meeting; even if he is a softhearted s'wit beneath the scarred and scowling exterior.) There is no helmet in the set, but a circlet of similar coloring to it that also bears a notable, undeniably magic luster. His fingers trace the edge of a pauldron, set on the table alongside its matching counterpart and the cuirass they go with, a leather belt draped over it and chainmail shoved beneath. When Valen had stumbled through asking him for his specific measurements, as nervous as though he'd been asking the mer for his hand in marriage, he'd not been expecting to receive anything this high-quality. Once the initial awe wears off, _expensive_ is the first word that comes to mind, and a thin layer of guilt settles on his shoulders--he's done nothing to earn this.

But there is no wallowing in self-pity. Valen is looking at him with hopeful, anxious eyes, so he tugs at the edge of his worn leather bracer and trades it out for one of the gauntlets, bending his fingers. It doesn't have much flexibility, but that comes as no surprise; it'll be a while before it's as comfortable as his leather was. It's well-made without a doubt, so he puts the pettier concern aside, twisting his hand to the left to see the shine. Valen clears his throat, fiddling with his dagger when Ralis looks up--he isn't wearing any gauntlets or gloves and it makes Ralis painfully aware of the paralysis enchantments he puts on damn near every blade he has. With a subtle wince, he meets the man's eyes.

"Do you--is it--do you like it?"

"It's nice," he replies, tapping the edge of the gauntlet. "What're the enchantments?"

"Oh, the armor is--uh, a few things actually. Gauntlets, boots, I just--I enchanted the cuirass and greaves together, the pauldrons were part of that. Two on the gauntlets and boots, together. I mean that--not that the gauntlets have one and the boots have the other, but. You know," he clears his throat a second time, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't have a helmet for it. So I just used a circlet instead."

It isn't a proper answer, but he can't say he's surprised. He'll ask again, later. "You didn't have to do this."

"I know, I know. It's better though, I mean--I fight _dragons,_ Ralis, and if you come with me then you'll have to as well and I know from _experience,_ " he chokes out, bitterly smiling, "that leather armor doesn't hold up to dragon-fire."

The house is cold. Severin Manor has an unsettling ambiance to it, something that becomes more pronounced when the conversation lulls. Valen steps away to pull a chair from somewhere else in the dark basement and put it across from Ralis, dropping into it with a thud. The elf abandons his leather boots to try on the glass ones, Valen's eyes following his movements as he paces around the room several times, shifting his weight before sitting down again. 

"How much did this cost?" he finally asks, adjusting the armor with a disinterested air.

"The soul gems were the most expensive part, I think. I filled them myself--mammoth souls. A giant, too. It was a few thousand septims, maybe?" He lies his arm atop the table and his head atop that. "I have more than enough money. Don't worry about it."

Ralis stares at him, dumbfounded. "A few _thousand?_ "

"It isn't a big deal," the Khajiit mumbles. Ralis places his hand on the table and Valen reaches out to lie his over it. 

"I cost you eleven thousand on the excavation. And now you're giving me this."

"I had more than enough money for that whole thing as well. _And_ I got several artifacts out of it."

"You needn't waste all your gold on me," he insists.

"It isn't a waste."

" _Valen,_ " he hisses, "I almost got you _killed._ "

"So have most people I care about. It wasn't your fault, anyway."

"How much, exactly, is a few thousand?"

Thirty seconds go by. "About three, four thousand for the armor. I can't remember on the swords or bow."

"The-- _Valen._ "

"Ralis," he responds with a dull smile.

"The _what?_ "

"Glass swords. Paralysis, frost damage on one, fire damage and--gods, what was it? Something. I don't know. I think they both have paralysis, actually," he mutters.

"With every word in this conversation I grow more concerned for you, sera."

"Do you use archery? I like the bow a lot, so if you don't I'll use it myself. Or we can just--we can trade it out whenever one of us needs it, obviously."

Their words lull again. Ralis pulls his hand away from Valen's to leave his boots on the floor and gauntlets on the table, running his nails through his hair. He leans back, pushing the chair back against the wall, front legs lifted off the ground. He eyes the warhammer on Valen's back, glowing an unholy red. He says, "You've never struck me as an archer."

Valen laughs without any mirth. "That's fair."

The lower half of the buildings on Solstheim always have a dreary chill in them, walls holding about as much warmth as the people within them. Severin Manor in particular had always reminded him of tombs, in a strange way that made him feel both at home and unsafe. He had spent most of his life in crypts since his youth, and the cold stone walls had brought with them a certain nostalgia that left him feeling more at home within them than in the hot sun or the ash-filled air that made up the rest of southern Solstheim. (Not anymore, though, not really.) He would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved that Valen had let him stay here instead of the cornerclub. Quieter, more isolated--more his speed.

(And he's afraid, somewhat, of being around so many people after what happened in Kolbjorn. If he could be so easily used as a puppet then, whose to say it won't happen again? Whose to say he'll ever be safe? He hadn't been himself. He hadn't been anyone, maybe--by the Three, what had he done to them? Corpses littered the crypt, blood staining the walls and the ground and his _hands,_ warm and uncomfortable. Valen should've killed him, he should've killed him there because it was the reasonable thing to do, but he _didn't._ Ralis had been prepared to die and instead he was brought back to Raven Rock, spare keys dropped into his hand because Valen seldom visited, someone had to use the Manor, someone needed to watch it, it would benefit them both. He had agreed. It hadn't seemed right to say anything else, not after what had happened.)

A hand touches the back of his arm, gentle, Valen leaning across the table to look at him with worry and it's a bit too close, a bit too intimate. 

("I don't want to die," he says, desperate.)

"I'm sorry. If you don't--if you don't like the armor. I shouldn't have just--"

"It's fine. Don't--I was just. I didn't expect this."

"Sorry."

"It's fine."

There is nothing between them but empty air. Ralis clears his throat, fiddles with the edge of the chainmail that sticks out from under the pauldrons. "...I'm going to go try this on," he says softly. Valen gives a crooked, melancholy smile.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry this is so short i can't finish anything longer than it (And I Have Been Trying)
> 
> heres my tumblr:  
> tinclown.tumblr.com
> 
> heres my elder scrolls sideblog:  
> mathieuwu-bellamont.tumblr.com
> 
> send me some anonymous hate *kissing emoji*


End file.
